


Rainflower

by werewulfs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Future Fic, Language of Flowers, M/M, canon divergence I guess, derek didnt leave after season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewulfs/pseuds/werewulfs
Summary: “The flower? That’s what you care about right now? The fucking flower? Derek Hale left without giving me a chance to-”“Stiles.” Lydia snaps, and he shuts up. A tear brushes his cheek, but his arms feel like lead. So he lets it fall and soak the collar of his shirt instead."I promised."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been absolutely forever since I've written for this ship, pairing, whatever. But I saw this flower on a Hozier tumblr post and here I am.  
> The fic is already fully written so chapters will be posted within the next few days or so.  
> I hope y'all enjoy!

The day Stiles turns twenty three he receives a single flower. Nobody delivers it to him, there’s no note, it’s just sitting tall in a thin vase on the kitchen table. The stem is void of any leaves, but the white petals curve delicately away from a powder yellow middle. It’s quite beautiful in a simple way, and frankly, Stiles has never seen anything like it. His mother loved flowers, rented out a local greenhouse when she ran out of room in their back garden. He looks out the living room window before he can stop himself. There’s no garden here anymore, hasn’t been for at least a decade. Just overgrown weeds that are currently being watered by the fabled April showers. He shivers, and turns back to the vase.

 

“Who sent you?” Stiles breathes, but the flower remains silent. 

 

It’s Lydia who tells him what it is, in the end. She spots it from her place in the armchair where she’s studiously sending out text reminders to the pack. Scott’s supposed to be here too but he’d been beckoned away from a panicking Kira, who claimed she had no idea what to get Stiles for his birthday. Which seemed odd considering he hadn’t heard of any struggle from Isaac, or even Liam, which scares him. 

 

“It’s a rainflower.” She eyes him over the top of her phone, her gaze briefly flickering to the vase behind him. 

 

“Oh? What’s it mean?” 

 

“That it’s not from around here?” Lydia sighs at his defeated expression. “I don’t know, Stiles. I’ve never been interested in the messages behind flowers.”  Her mouth twitches on the left side, almost imperceptibly, she’s lying. Stiles opens his mouth retort but bites his tongue, and starts pulling out the plates of snacks from the fridge. 

 

Nobody else brings up the flower, even during the heart of his birthday/pack night when everyone is constantly in and out of kitchen grabbing food and drinks. But there’s a moment during their pack viewing of Black Panther when he catches Malia give the flower a long guilty look. Not wanting to ruin the mood of the night he bites his tongue again, and turns his attention back to the television. 

 

Kira bakes him a delicious red velvet cake, and gives him a sweet smile when he waves her off for apologizing that she didn’t do more. Scott and Liam go splitsies on a giant wolf plushie, which he immediately sits on top of and refuses to budge. Mason and Corey hand him gift cards to various stores, with embarrassed looks on their faces, but lighten up when they see how stoked he truly is. His dad just tells him he got the jeep a proper repair, and Stiles revels in the fact he won’t need another roll of duct tape in awhile. He even receives a horrible group Skype rendition of happy birthday from Jackson, Ethan, and Isaac. After, Malia hands him a copy of the first issue of Batman: Damned, and he cackles until Scott tells her that the comic has Bruce Wayne’s penis on full display. 

 

“I know.” Malia says with a wolfish grin, and Stiles cries at the pure look of horror on Scott’s face.

 

Lydia hands him a letter at the end of the night. It’s a simple white envelope with his name scrawled slightly slanted, but tidy letters on the front. Not her own handwriting but somebody else’s, someone she feels sad about if the look on her face is anything to go by. There wasn’t anyone who couldn’t be here tonight if you don’t count Melissa who had a night shift at the hospital and passed along her triple chocolate brownies with Scott. And it couldn’t be Peter because nobody’s seen him in who knows how long, not even-

 

“Derek.” Stiles breathes suddenly. The only person that didn’t show up tonight, the person who completely slipped his mind. The only one who didn’t even call or text. How could he have forgotten him? His eyes start to burn. 

 

“He’s gone isn’t he?” Stiles asks, voice cracking.

 

“I didn’t get you anything but I promised to give you this letter, and the name of that flower.”

 

“The  _ flower _ ? That’s what you care about right now? The fucking flower? Derek Hale left without giving me a chance to-”

 

“Stiles.” Lydia snaps, and he shuts up. A tear brushes his cheek, but his arms feel like lead. So he lets it fall and soak the collar of his shirt instead.

 

“I promised.” Stiles nods, and Lydia’s eyes soften. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, and presses a feather light kiss to his cheek. 

 

Lydia leaves him there, clutching Derek’s letter to his chest, tears drying on his cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The glass and water from last night have disappeared from the floor and the white flower sits tall in a cup of water on the table; almost like an accusation
> 
> “I’m sorry.” Stiles croaks, unsure whether he’s talking to his dad or the rainflower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter is up right away because I'm working the rest of the week so forget what I said about the next few days. I also upped the amount of chapters only because it works better with the way I want to space things out. 
> 
> Also just to clarify Derek never left with Braeden, and the final season didn't happen. I'm making things up as I go so just bare with me.

Stiles has many regrets, probably more than the average twenty-something adult. Not spending more time with his mother during her last year? Check. Digging up Laura Hale’s body? Check. Opening that damn door and letting the Nogitsune in, and subsequently killing or injuring people he cares about? Double check. Leaving Derek behind when he lie on the sand coughing up blood and dying? Haha, check! The list goes on. But he thinks that maybe, after all this time, after all the late nights spent giggling over stupid shit with Derek. The nights the other man would lend a patient ear while Stiles rambled about everything and nothing. And the almost kisses they shared when a baddie got a little too close. 

 

Maybe after all this time, what he regrets most, is never saying a single word that meant a thing. 

 

Because maybe if he did he wouldn’t be tearing up that damn letter, and watching the pieces fall at his feet. He wouldn’t be screaming and crying alone in his childhood home while his dad curls up next to the love of his life in her bed, in her house, three blocks away. If he opened his goddamn mouth when it counted, he wouldn’t be watching the glass from the vase cut into his hands as he shakily tries to salvage the flower from the mess on the floor. If Derek Hale listened closely to his heart maybe he’d have known that those beats were screaming with the fullness of his feelings. 

 

There are no maybes when his father pushes himself into the kitchen and gathers Stiles into his arms, despite his thrashing. None when leads him to the bathroom, and carefully picks the glass from his bloody palms. Not even when he bandages Stiles’ hands with the tenderness only his father can provide, and with each one, seals his crying heart back inside his chest. But there is a moment of peace when his father curls around him in his bed, and cards his fingers through his hair. Whispering soothing words, and pressing a kiss to his forehead just like all those nights after his mother died. 

 

There’s a single moment of clarity when Stiles is on the brink of sleep and he hears his dad speak into the night.

 

“I never wanted this for you, not these feelings, not ever.” 

 

He welcomes the darkness after that.

  
  


Stiles wakes the next morning alone, and panicked. But calms when he hears the telltale sounds of his dad cooking downstairs. His limbs feel heavy and his fingers are stiff and sweaty inside the bandages but he heaves himself out of bed anyways. When he turns the corner to the kitchen he freezes. The glass and water from last night have disappeared from the floor and the white flower sits tall in a cup of water on the table; almost like an accusation. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles croaks, unsure whether he’s talking to his dad or the rainflower. 

The other man turns from where he’s cooking what smells like chocolate chip pancakes. There’s a sadness in his eyes that he knows is from his breakdown the night before, but he gives Stiles a smile and gestures to the table where a stack of fluffy pancakes already sit. As he sits the scent of the flower hits him, and he feels light, happy, for a moment. Tears well up in his eyes, and he quickly wipes them away before his dad can see. Ignoring the gleaming white petals, Stiles takes a few pancakes and starts picking at them. 

 

After a few minutes of silence his dad sits down across from him with three more pancakes for the stack, and his own plate. They eat quietly, and Stiles’ appetite increases a bit when he realizes his dad isn’t going to say anything. He does spot him sneaking glances at the flower as if he, the son of a cop wouldn’t realize. So he swallows his mouthful of chocolatey goodness and speaks.

 

“Okay dad, spit it out.” The older man looks a little sheepish at this.

 

“I just-What did Lydia say? I know she was the last one to leave the party.”

 

Stiles takes a steadying breath. “She gave me a letter. From Derek.”

 

“He’s gone then.” It’s not a question, and Stiles has never been more thankful that his dad is a quick thinker.

 

“Yup.” John sighs.

 

“I always hoped that kid would get out of here- and before you get angry, Stiles, this town has never given Derek anything but grief. I wish he’d have picked a better day to leave, but I’ve seen the way he drags himself around town. It’s like-like there’s something pulling him down, clawing at his heels, begging him to collapse. I know you’ve seen it, Stiles.”

 

Shocked, he nods. He  _ has  _ seen it, it’s one of the reasons he reached out to Derek all those years ago, after he died in the desert. There was this urge to ease some of that weight, and maybe along the way ease some of the horrors of the Nogitsune along the way. It was in no way a substitute for therapy, but he thought that something, even small, had come of it. Guess he was wrong. 

 

“Lydia told me she promised to give me the letter, and the name of the flower.” His dad nods.

 

“And? What is it?” 

 

“A rainflower.” A look flicks across his dad’s face, too quick for Stiles to decipher it, and he stands.

“Ok Stiles, my shift at the station starts in a few hours and I still have to go back to Mel’s to shower, and change. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call me or Melissa.”

 

“I think I’m gonna see if Scotty can come by and we can shoot a few zombies or something. Thanks, dad.”

 

John pulls him into a hug, practically squeezing the life out of him, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

 

“Love you, kiddo.” Stiles repeats the sentiment, and his dad leaves. 

 

Curling up on the couch with the fluffy blanket Derek gave him two years ago, he checks his texts. There’s one from Scott, two from Lydia, and one from his dad. He checks the one sent by his dad first considering it came in only a minute ago.

 

**Daddy-o:** In your mother’s stuff in the attic there should be her book on flowers, take a peek and see if you can find Derek’s flower.

 

The suggestion is simple enough. In recent years they’ve been donating and selling a lot of his mother’s stuff. All they saved was her books which were in his dad’s office, and a box full of her personal journals, which were apparently in the attic. Stiles was unaware, but not surprised that his mother had made her own journal on flowers, so he makes a mental note to grab that after he texts Lydia and Scott. 

 

The texts from Lydia are ones checking up on him, and he sends her an affirmative that he’s still in town, and another one apologizing for yelling at her. Her reply is immediate and she brushes off his apology with a ‘I would’ve done the same’ and life goes on the same between them. He vetoes the video game idea with Scott and asks him if he’d like to come over and help him find his mother’s old journals with him. His reply, is also immediate, and with a quick phone call to Kira, Scott is pushing himself through the front door. 

 

“Hey buddy. My mom told me what happened. Kind of a dick move.” Stiles snorts at his best friends lack of tact, and tugs him upstairs to where the attic drop down is.

 

“Yeah.” He agrees, and they leave it at that. 

 

The attic is full of dust, and there’s a subtle musty scent permeating the air. There’s only a few boxes, and pieces of furniture which is odd, considering how long they’ve lived in the house. Despite this his mother’s box is still hell to find. Somehow it got pushed between Stiles’ childhood dresser, and a big creepy looking wardrobe that he doesn’t recognize, that even makes Scott shiver when looking at it. The werewolf pushes aside the dresser and they tug the box free, causing Stiles to shout in delight, and his best friend lugs the thing down the attic steps. 

 

In the brighter area of the living room they realize that the box is actually a chest, and inside are at least a dozen journals. Alongside those are a few photo albums, and he and Scott take a moment to coo over pictures of them together as children. And if he gets teary eyed looking at a photo of his parents at their wedding, well it’s nobody’s business but his own. 

 

His mother’s flower journal is easy to spot amongst everything else. It has delicate watercolour flowers painted on the front, and her name in looping cursive in the bottom left corner. The pages crackle when he opens it, but nothing immediately falls out or rips so he continues. Each page is dedicated to a flower, stating its scientific name, its more common tongue names, and their meaning. This is accompanied by a hand drawn depiction of each flower or flower like plant. Thankfully the first two pages are dedicated to a table of contents, so he wastes no time skipping to page 33.

 

**_Zephyranthes;_ **

**_Common names include:_ ** _ rainflower, fairy lily, zephyr lily, and magic lily _

**_Common meanings include:_ ** _ I love you back, I must atone for my sins, I will never forget you _

 

A tear drips onto the page, Scott rushes over from where he’s sorting his mom’s other journals. Stiles tries to say something, reassure his best friend that the tears are half relief, but he can’t speak past the lump in his throat. Scott must read the entry because an arm snakes around his waist and he’s pulled against the werewolf’s side. He lays his head on his warm shoulder, and immediately feels the weight of Scott’s head atop his own. 

 

They sit there for what feels like hours. Scott’s shoulder is covered in tears and snot. A glance at the clock tells Stiles it’s been exactly 24 hours since Lydia handed him that letter, and he starts to giggle helplessly.

 

“A-at least he loves me. That’s something.” He giggles again, but there’s anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Untangling himself from Scott he heads to where the rainflower has been sitting innocently all day, as silent as ever.

 

“You stupid fucking flower!” He screams. “Why couldn’t you have just opened your big dumb mouth and said something! I felt the same! All this fucking time I felt the same, I still do! I would’ve followed you to the ends of the earth, you bastard!”

 

He makes to grab the cup the flower’s sitting in, wants to tear the pearly white petals from the stalk and watch them flutter to the floor.  but Scott’s hands wrap around his biceps and tug him back.

 

“Let me go!” He yells, thrashing, tears soaking his cheeks. “I hate it! I hate it! I hate him, Scott!”

 

“I know,” Scott says softly.

 

“I-I would’ve gone anywhere with him. I would’ve left this hellmouth of a town behind, just for him!”

 

“I know.” He repeats.

 

“Then why didn’t  _ he? _ ” Stiles chokes out. 

 

Scott’s silence is deafening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles sucks in a shaky breath. What if the flower dies anyways, and he has nothing to remember Derek by? The pounding in his chest almost hurts, but he closes the book anyways, and imagines the flower screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update work has been kicking my ass, and I started another fic to post after this one. Oops!   
> I reduced the chapters down to four because I didn't want to break this into two tiny parts. Next chapter will be the final one and also an epilogue.

In another life Stiles is sure that they would’ve been together. In one, the fire never happened, and life goes on as normal. They happen to connect with Cora in high school, then her Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are integrated into their friend group. Cora tells them about werewolves after offering Erica the bite to cure her epilepsy. After she accepts Boyd follows shortly behind, then Isaac, then Scott when his asthma puts him in the hospital. Jackson never goes all kanima on them, the Argents come to town but there’s no Kate, no Gerard. The Alphas come but they kill Jennifer before she can do anything serious, they leave three short, and the Hale pack injured. They happen upon Malia, she becomes pack, she gets real help. Kira still comes to town, and Scott still falls in love. They avoid the Nogitsune, and since the Nemeton slumbers still, they avoid the dread doctors. Nothing happens in this life, but they don’t meet until Stiles is 23 and out of college.

 

Derek moves back home after living in New York pursuing his history degree, and then his teaching degree. He gets a job at Beacon Hills High, while Stiles joins the Police Academy. They bump into each other for the first time inside the tiny, but quaint coffee shop Isaac and Kira own. Stiles imagines it’s love at first sight, but they fight and squabble for months until Cora literally knocks their heads together. And while Stiles is getting stitches in his forehead, Derek asks him to coffee. It’s sweet, it’s everything he wants. They grow old together, and Stiles keeps his mother’s garden alive. They press flowers in journals, and in his final moments he tells Derek he loves him. 

 

In another werewolves don’t exist, they meet in a park, they’re walking their dogs. The dogs fall in love and the rest is history. 

 

In another he simply doesn't leave and Stiles is sure, then, in that universe, he wouldn't be crying alone in his bed.

 

It's not until the edges of the pretty white petals start to go brown, that he doesn't want to let it go. Doesn't want to let whatever he has left of Derek die. So he rummages around his mother's chest until he finds what he's looking for, and grins in triumph when he pulls out a slightly beat up journal. 

 

It looks to be the trial version of his mother's own flower one. The watercolour is kind of leaky at the edges, and her name is wobbly and smudged. There's a distinct lack of patience and concentration in it’s makeup, and he can't help but smile fondly. His mom had always been the most understanding of him as a child. Always looking for the signs of her own struggles in him, catching them and easing the frustration. She had a soul that deserved to live a thousand years, kind, and gentle; like a flower.

 

Stiles shakes himself of sad thoughts and rushes back to the kitchen. The final pages of Claudia’s journal had been clear instructions on how to press flowers, and he knows they have parchment paper somewhere in the many cupboards of the kitchen. This also happens to be how his dad find him hours later. Half inside the pantry, butt in the air, and covered in flour. 

 

“Stiles.” His dad says, disdain evident in his voice. The younger man hits his elbow on something on the way out and curses. 

 

“Hey pops! I’m just trying to find parchment paper, yanno? I saw something in mom’s journal about pressing flowers, and decided that maybe I’m not that mad at Derek. I mean yeah he left me here on my birthday, and all he left was a cryptic flower, and a note I never ended up reading. B-but I guess I’m not mad enough to let the only thing I have left of him die.” He can hear the hysterical edge to his voice ringing in his ears, and winces. His dad doesn’t seem bothered though, he just prods Stiles out of the kitchen and opens the kitty corner cupboard pulling out a pack of parchment paper. 

 

“I know you’re on edge right now, you have this franticness to your movements. Have you taken your adderall since Derek left?” Stiles shakes his head, a bit of flour dusting out of is hair. 

“Go take it, I’ll get this set up. Your mother did teach me a thing or two.”

 

When Stiles trudges back downstairs his dad has put everything back into the cupboards, swept up the flour, and set up the necessary materials for pressing flowers. There’s the rainflower, stem trimmed down a bit, and a large ancient phonebook sitting on the table alongside the parchment paper. They take their time as to not break the flower. His dad opens the phonebook so one side is larger than the other. From there he carefully lines it with the parchment paper, then gestures to the large tome and tells him to place the rainflower inside. 

 

“Close the book.” His dad says, and Stiles sucks in a shaky breath. What if the flower dies anyways, and he has nothing to remember Derek by? The pounding in his chest almost hurts, but he closes the book anyways, and imagines the flower screaming. 

 

***

 

Months later after a very long chat with his dad and Melissa he decides to go to therapy. Apparently Scott- after Ms. Morell had redirected him her way- had found a witch who had opened a hearsay supernatural clinic. Only supers, people in packs, or people who were in the know could go there, and only then were they allowed. Unaware people who somehow found themselves there were redirected to another therapist, and the clinic relocated. 

 

Stiles had met with Dr. Creadic, or Ava as she wanted to be called, to see if he thought she’d be a good fit or if he wanted to go with another doctor they had on location. There was no need, because as soon as she took one look at Stiles, and she made a quiet noise of understanding. There was no pity, no condescending undertone, just pure neutral understanding; it was a breath of fresh air. After that he asked her when her next available open session was, and they parted with a handshake; both the witch’s hands coming to clasp his own shaky one. 

 

Anxiety clamped his jaw shut the first session, and the second, and half of the third. He was scared of being judged, and scared of the witch confirming his biggest fears. Allison’s death was his fault, his mind was too weak to resist the Nogitsune, Scott was right to believe Theo over him, Derek left because of him. It wasn’t until she spoke herself, in a soft neutral tone.

 

“In all my years as a supernatural therapist I have never seen one with such a strong bond to a werewolf. It sits on your chest, just above your heart; but you haven’t let it inside yet. What’s stopping you, Stiles? What’s preventing you from letting it in?”

 

I don’t know, Ava,” he snarks immediately, jaw unhinging painfully. “Maybe because the last time I let something in it possessed me.” 

“Letting someone love you” she says, tucking a few strands of her graying wheat coloured hair behind her ear. “And being unwillingly possessed are not the one in the same.” 

 

Somewhere in his heart Stiles knows this, but knowing something doesn’t always stop the ache it brings. Nor does it dam the flood of tears that are streaming down his face at the words. 

 

***

 

This continues for months, and during those months he moves Derek’s flower to his own journal. Then begins to make trips to the flower shop just outside Beacon Hills. They carry even the most exotic flowers, and the place is run by a forest Nymph- Arty, name unpronounceable with a human tongue- who gives him a free flower of his choice in exchange for a simple glamour pouch. The first time he tells Stiles this, he immediately picks a yellow carnation, the thought of Derek leaving still fresh in his mind despite it being months. He goes home, and presses the flower, hoping to crush it beneath the three books stacked on top of it. 

 

“I pressed a yellow carnation.*” Stiles tells Ava a few days after he’s left the stack of books on his kitchen table.

 

“An odd choice,” she relays. “Who are are you harbouring such negative feelings for?”

 

“Derek.” He blurts out immediately, and his gut starts to roil.

 

“I thought you held him in high regard.” Ava replies, and Stiles rolls his eyes. For someone so in touch with his feelings she sure dances around the word love a lot. 

 

“I do, it’s just- I need it for me.” Ava nods in understanding, and presses no further.

 

***

 

Two years after Derek leaves, the appointments with his therapist are reduced to twice a month. It’s done with great reluctance from her, but he tells  her with complete faith and honesty that the flower pressing is helping him, healing him. 

 

Since the yellow carnation, he has picked, and pressed; a dandelion*, lily of the valley*, a moonflower*, and an orange tulip*. And a half a year later, when she asks after the flower pressing he tells her that he doesn’t need it anymore, that the orange tulip accurately represents where he sits with Derek right now. And then tells her he’s met someone, and that he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. Ava congratulates him, a wide smile on her face.

 

***

 

Three years after Derek leaves, Ava makes her sympathy known to him when he relays that the someone he met broke up with him. 

 

“He told me I was in love with someone else.” He sobs to her, on a cold, cold April day.

 

“And are you?” 

 

“I don’t want to be.”

 

***

 

Three and a half years after Derek leaves, Stiles sits across from Ava, clutching his flower journal, his knee bouncing anxiously. She gestures for him to begin, and a wide smile stretches across his face.

 

“I’ve pressed an oxeye daisy*.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yellow carnation means: rejection, disdain, disappointment  
> * Dandelion means: overcoming hardship  
> * Lily of the valley means: sweetness, humility, returning happiness, trust  
> * Moonflower means: dreaming of love  
> * Orange Tulip means: understanding, appreciation, truest love  
> * Dark Pink Rose means: grattitude  
> * Oxeye Daisy means: patience


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles pauses at the door, and listens for any telltale signs of the pack, like the scuffing that Scott does with his feet even after all these years, or Liam’s quiet humming, but there’s nothing. Feeling slightly like a fool for making a complete stranger wait, he opens the door. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, but his jaw clamps painfully shut when he sees Derek on the other side.

Eleven years after Derek leaves- almost to the date- when Stiles is living alone in his childhood home, the rainflower carefully pressed and preserved in the pages of his journal, there’s a timid knock on the door. The bones in his bad leg creak and crack when he pulls himself off the couch; a persistent problem after a run in with a troll left him on bedrest with a heavily broken leg. 

 

Stiles pauses at the door, and listens for any telltale signs of the pack, like the scuffing that Scott does with his feet even after all these years, or Liam’s quiet humming, but there’s nothing. Feeling slightly like a fool for making a complete stranger wait, he opens the door. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, but his jaw clamps painfully shut when he sees Derek on the other side. 

 

Stiles hates to admit it but the years have been good to him. There’s almost a softness about the way he seems to carry himself now, like the years have traded his grief for pure joy, and darkness for the slight laugh lines by his eyes. Stiles longs to be the one to deepen them, create permanen evidence of happiness in the face of the one he loves. 

 

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, a soft smile gracing his lips. It makes the younger man’s knees wobble. Gripping the doorframe he stands tall, and he swallows his anger.

 

“I want to know why.” The smile falls from the man’s face and he adopts a serious expression.

 

“I never got help,” Derek whispers. “Not when Laura and I fled to New York for years. Not when I came back to Beacon Hills to discover her dead body. Not even when I escorted Cora back to her pack, or when things finally started to slow down around here. But I had an epiphany if you can believe it. This place was stopping me, the connections I made here, the atmosphere of this place doesn't want you to get better, and I was letting that control me. So I left. I got help, and I know it took a decade-”

 

“Eleven years.” Stiles interrupts, and Derek nods, eyes going skyward briefly.

 

“Eleven years, yes. But I have no remorse about leaving- and before you get angry I want you to know I regret that way I left. It was shitty, and I was only thinking about one thing.”

 

“What?” The younger man whispers, tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

 

“That if I saw you one more time I wouldn't be able to stop myself from asking you to run away with me. I know you would've said-”

 

“Yes!” Stiles blurts before Derek can finish. “I would've said yes. I would've gone anywhere with you. I would go anywhere for  _ you.”  _

 

“I-I didn't know. How was I supposed to know?” 

 

“The flower you left seemed to imply otherwise.” Derek’s cheeks light up a brilliant red, and he takes a step forward. Stiles takes his chance.

 

“I want to know what it said.” Stiles says instead of pushing any further on a topic the wolf clearly felt embarrassed about.

 

“What?” Derek’s eyes squint a bit in confusion, a few of those gorgeous laugh lines deepening. 

 

“The note you left like a decade ago, I want to know what you thought you had the audacity to say to me. What you thought would soothe my aching heart when you left on my fucking birthday.” Derek winces at this, but his face smooths out into a neutral expression, his eyes only betraying his sadness.

 

“You ripped it up.” It’s not a question, and Stiles snorts haughtily.

 

“Are you surprised? I had anger issues long after the Nogitsune, you know that. Or-well- maybe you don’t.” Derek smiles at his stuttering, and visibly releases a breath. 

 

“I remember exactly what I wrote that day, almost like it was yesterday.” He pauses, and looks around shiftily. “Can we go inside?”

 

“No Derek, as of right now you’re a vampire. You’re not stepping inside my house until I invite you, are we clear?” A single jerky nod is his reply.

 

“‘Listen to what the flower is telling you.’” The silence that follows is deafening, but it hits him all at once. Of course flower’s speak, his mother wrote a whole journal dedicated to what they had to say. And of course he remembers what the rainflower’s delicate white petals screamed at him, what they told him. Almost unconsciously, he drags the werewolf inside, slamming the door shut behind him. 

 

“Do you still feel the same?” 

 

“How could I not?” Stiles breaks out into a grin, and reaches out and grasps the lapels of Derek’s normal non-leather jacket. He tugs slightly, the wolf doesn’t resist, just lets himself be pulled. They’re chest to chest now, and Stiles’ heart is about to break through his rib cage it’s beating so fast. 

 

“God, I hoped you’d say that.” And presses his lips to Derek’s, who begins to kiss back. But pulls away.

 

“Are you sure you want this? I know I hurt you. I never expected you to forgive me this easily.” 

 

“Four years ago I pressed a single flower after years of waiting.” Stiles tells him, and Derek’s sad eyes light up with hope. “It was a single white tulip. Something so common, something I picked from my very own garden.”

 

Stiles presses the pad of his thumb against Derek’s bottom lip then, he can feel the other man’s soft puffs of breath warming the skin. His eyes flick over the werewolf’s face, hoping to find understanding in the eyes of the one he loves so much, and he feels the lips beneath his thumb stretch into a smile. 

 

So he takes this as a  _ yes, I understand  _ and leans in, watching Derek’s eyes flash blue for a second before they flutter shut, and they meet halfway. The kiss is tentative at first, both their lips are slightly chapped so there’s a slight friction when one of them, god knows who, begins to move their lips. Stiles curses himself internally for never listening to Lydia last week when she said regular use of chapstick does wonders for unexpected kissing. Stiles pulls away quickly.

 

“She knew, didn’t she?” Stiles asks, frustration creeping into his voice. “Lydia knew you were coming back.”

 

“I had to know if you were still here. I had to know if you’d still want to see me. When she said you stopped screaming at night I knew you could handle me coming home.”  _ Home, _ Stiles thinks feverishly, he clutches at the feelings exploding in his chest, and reels Derek back in. 

The kiss is different this time, it’s all open mouths and tongues. Stiles doesn’t know how it escalated to this so quickly but he’s not about to interrupt them again with Lydia of all people. Oddly enough Derek tastes like apple pie, the cinnamon sharp on his tongue, and apples teasing his taste buds. The younger man doesn’t even want to imagine what the curly fries he ate for lunch taste like to the werewolf, but by the way Derek’s begun to kiss down his neck tells him that he must not mind too much.

 

The lips make their way down his neck to his adam's apple, and Derek begins to lightly suck. Stiles moans embarrassingly loud, knees nearly failing him again, and he feels the rumble of Derek’s growly chuckle vibrate in his chest. Kissing his way back up the werewolf smiles at him, face flushed red and brings their lips back together. 

 

Stiles is overwhelmed, the sweet but spicy taste of Derek is everywhere as their tongues twine for what feels like the millionth time. Breathing in he can smell the deep hints of pine, and earth in his wolf’s natural scent and it’s making him dizzy. He grasps at the back of Derek’s shirt for support and tugs, bringing them over to where the couch is and falling haphazardly onto it. 

 

They kiss for what feels like an eternity until Stiles has to break away to suck in a few breaths. He lifts his hand and touches his throat where he knows a mark is beginning to purple on the skin, and his cheeks sting with beard burn. Derek doesn’t look much better than he does, there’s this dazed look in his eyes, and he’s got a big stupid grin on his face; kiss swollen lips red against his white teeth. The laugh lines beside his eyes crease and deepen when he catches Stiles looking, and he can feel his own big stupid grin spread in response.  _ God,  _ he thinks then.  _ You're so beautiful. _

 

Thirteen years after Derek leaves, Stiles presses one last flower in his name; a delicate, pale yellow primrose*.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Primrose means: eternal love
> 
> This is it folks! I did tell you it'd have a happy ending. 
> 
> If you wanna chat I'm   
> @ werewulfs on twitter  
> and  
> velvut on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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